Sights to Be
by Mycelia
Summary: There are many things to happen, and many things as of yet unseen. A series of independent chapters.
1. Matador, Toreador

Blake hesitated at the door to her room. It was hardly a second's hesitation, but compared to the flightiness that had overcome her since returning to Menagerie she might as well have stood still for half an hour looking into the capital B hanging on the closed and foreign door. The Datura- her family's true name- had moved into this house after she disowned them for the White Fang. Despite this, they had kept a room for her to return to for the past six years. She took a deep breath and pushed the door open, which glided on its hinges. Though a thin layer of dust topped the furniture, the room wasn't a time capsule. It had been redecorated tastefully over the years; Three large bookshelves obscured an entire wall, filled with everything from children's books to Sienna Khan's _Third Crusade_. Framed sketches of hers also hung proudly on the walls. She fought the urge to outright tear down the charcoal likeness of Adam, before stowing it out of sight behind a dresser. She saw Sun standing in the doorway uncharacteristically quiet as she picked up a book by the title of _Belladonna Lilies_ , whose front cover sported a pair of women eerily similar in appearance to her and Weiss. A note on the inside read "Happy 16th, Pumpkin. -Papa" and Blake flinched before setting the novel on her desk to read later, underneath a beautiful watercolour painting of a flower garden. The photorealistic style was distinctly Mistralan, and the name Bromios was hidden among the crocus.

A man no younger than fifty walked around his apartment, wrapping objects in newspaper and towels before packing them into boxes. He moved with the vigour of someone with places to be. Two solid knocks on the door announced the arrival of a very familiar face, though one that became increasingly absent in recent months. Bromios paused for a moment with a half-wrapped glass in his hand to greet the person towards who he would always be welcoming.

"Hello Adam."

"Hey." The teenager looked at the cardboard boxes that took up much of the floor. "What's going on? Are you moving?"

Bromios sighed. "I've just… had a wave of inspiration. I've been debating about moving for a while, actually." it was almost a lie.

"This isn't…"

"Sienna hasn't affected my decision, Adam."

"I wanted to let you know that I'm going out to Vale in a few days. Sienna wants someone with more field experience leading protests. We've never had too many issues, but we're expecting things to change around a little bit." Bromios kept his opinion of the new methods to himself, while the voice in the back of his head gave a small shrug when he turned to it. The glass in his hand slid into a box and he picked up another.

"If that's the case, we should certainly go out for brunch sometime; I'd love to visit Vale at some point. Unfortunately, I won't be able to see you off. I have to make sure no one's cheating me out through all the paperwork." A folder containing well over a hundred twenty pages sat on the kitchen counter. Adam glared at it.

"How are you going to afford a new place?"

Bromios raised his empty hand. "Don't worry, I have it planned out."

"But if humans get in your way…"

"I have it planned out, don't I?" The two of them were quiet for a while. Adam's hands tapped his pants in a rhythmic order, poorly convincing himself that his guardian of ten years was being wholly truthful. He eventually tried to open up the conversation again.

"Dad…" Bromios visibly flinched forwards, Nearly dropping the paints in his hands.

"I'm not your father Adam. We know this." He turned and faced him for the second time, ramlike horns curling down each side of his head. Painful memories surfaced for both of them. The lynching of the Taurus family had become international news. Even the SDC marked it as… _historically accurate_. "Actually Adam… you should visit their grave before you leave. Make sure they can rest well." If the bull faunus had words to say they never came out. Instead his head turned so sharply to the side he could have snapped his own neck, and he gently pushed away his guardian's comforting hand. The pair of brown boots exited the apartment door, leaving it open behind him. After a moment's hesitation Bromios leaned out the doorway and tossed an artfully made whittling knife to him, the symbol of a wilting rose engraved on the mother-of-pearl handle. Adam caught it deftly in his right hand and slipped it cautiously into his shirt pocket.

"Keep it." Bromios told him firmly. "You loved whittling as a kid. Keep at it." Adam was highly doubtful that he would. He reflected for a brief moment; the man was old and becoming complacent with the world. It was up to him and Sienna to push humans into changing.

"Thank you, Bromios." He nodded his head, closing his eyes as he did so. "I'll be sure to keep this on me." Adam turned away for the final time and walked away, his shoulders set and square as Bromios returned to his packing. On his way out he passed the mailbox marked Bromios Arc and glanced inside one last time, pleasantly surprised to find nothing addressed to him. He walked on, hoping that he wouldn't be stopped before he could stow the knife away in some safe place. Even if it were the tiniest edge, some paranoia-stricken officer would have more than enough power to confiscate his inheritance. Or, at least, the physical part of it.


	2. Pinky Promise

The young woman looked around the automotist's shop with interest, passing functioning models on display and deep shelves of parts for both maintenance and hobby alike. Despite the bustle of activity out on the street, it remained quiet enough behind single-pane glass and unpainted bricks for her to listen- more habitually than anything- for the sounds of a fight caused by her blonde sister upstairs. The floorboards creaked under Yang Xiao Long's heavy footsteps, but nothing continued to happen as she finally passed the enclosed glass display on the front counter. It's contents were the one thing to hold her attention for the past twenty minutes; a set of prosthetic fingers that were carved and stained by hand. Even without the mechanical parts that allowed for gripping, it was a veritable work of art.

The apprentice behind the counter took note of this.

"Anyone of your stature can certainly appreciate the value of a complete grip." He looked down to Ruby's left hand, where a dark and uneven scar covered the knuckle of her little finger. "They're all produced custom, with exact measurements taken from the opposite hand." The man's look returned upwards to look into the huntress's honed features, though the sheer intensity of her silver eyes kept him looking at her forehead. The young woman smiled sheepishly.

"Yeah, but I've been without it for so long that getting a prosthetic wouldn't be much help." Ruby's left ring finger touched her chin in an innocent way. "Plus I would need to re-stitch all my gloves again… I took off the pinkies so they wouldn't flop around." The apprentice nodded. Huntsmens' weapons were notoriously complex, and loose fabric on a glove could prove more than just annoying.

"Even so, much of one's grip is in the little finger. I don't know many people who would dare to swing a 12.7 mm, let alone with a partial grip or against a Grimm."

"Good point. But I've managed so far."

"To say the least, Miss Rose." Ruby paused for a second, taken slightly aback at the mention of her surname.

"I wasn't entirely aware my name had traveled through Verspalais."

"It hasn't yet, at least. I heard it from a rather irregular customer who was passing through. Oh, that must be Miss Xiao Long coming down now. Is everything in order, Miss?" The blonde came down the stairs behind the counter with boots thudding like a rolling drumbeat. She held up an envelope in a fleshy hand and flexed the robotic fingers of the other.

"And got the joints on this thing polished up. I guess dust doesn't make _everything_ better after all."

"I'm glad you're seeing our way of thinking at last."

"But Atlesian robotics are still better." The apprentice rolled his eyes, deciding not to argue with a potential customer again. The two walked out of the automotist's workshop side by side, Ruby still eyeing the display model fingers as they stepped out onto the brown-red pavers that ran through the entire the citystate. Tall buildings did nothing to obscure the city's vertical airport; unique to the world and eclipsing the former Beacon tower more than twice over. She blew out a sigh loud enough to rival the airship propeller passing overhead. Celica would only be returned to them after leaving the city thanks to her sister's mistake.

"We were explicitly told _not_ to draw our weapons Yang. I'm just glad we didn't have to bail you out this time. Even Atlas didn't have soldiers in literally every direction." She slipped forwards and through the crowds like a crimson ghost just slightly faster than Yang's presence could part them, unintentionally straining her older sister to keep up as they made their way down side streets, approaching the _Summer Lord_ to rest for the remainder of the day. With the room's three latches shut tight, the envelope was placed carefully inside a hidden compartment in Yang's trunk alongside some other very private possessions. Ruby absorbed the view and evening sunlight through the tall windows, streching her supple shoulders and twisting a crick out of her back. Though puberty had come and passed, her experience as both a huntress and Silver-eyed warrior had revealed a heroic elegance. She was as worthy as her mother to hold the Horned Crown of War and just as proud. In terms of ability she had ripped Nevermores and Lancers from the sky single-handedly, saved towns from bandits, and walked across continents. She sparred against a god's murderer, and trained under a Prophet. She also _nearly_ , _nearly_ got a date with a robot; though she kept this last feat to herself. It was a remarkable record, and her outward appearance reflected it. Ruby was lithe and muscular, though she surprisingly didn't have any of her father or sister's brawn. Her skin was tanned from weeks in the sun. The calluses on her hands toughened by Grand Thorn's weight and the resistance granted by the oldest Grimm. It helped too that her teachers and advisors demanded she perform as close to perfection as possible; it took conscious effort to go slow herself down, for the fact that her casual walking speed matched Blake at a jog. Any mockery that a person made would immediately be countered by five other things. Though Yang's subconscious knew this, she still refused to admit it. Ruby talked, still immersed in the view:

"You know, Yang, that this sorta thing happens all the time."

"You were being harassed!"

"And what where you going to fix about it?" The shoulder-length braid swished slightly.

"I would make them stop!"

"And what does that fix?"

"They'd..."

"It doesn't affect me, sis." She moved to make sure the blonde could see no hint of her expression."As a matter of fact, I'd be lying to say I didn't appreciate it." The woman behind her stuttered, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Thoughts- a large number of them- went through her head at once. Yang's forehead pulsed for the briefest moment before remembering certain facts about her sister's preferences. Ruby almost looked back around before Yang got words out again.

"That doesn't mean what they're doing is okay."

"That doesn't mean shooting them is warranted." her words were remarkably forceful.

"I-It's not like I was planning on killing them."

"The thought passed your mind, sis." She turned around and walked over to the bed. Though it was only an illusion, it seemed that her silver eyes had stored the sunlight and were now casting it back on fuming dragon. Her hand gently squeezed Yang's right bicep just above the metal plug, and the muscle beneath it slackened. The warrior scooted forwards so that their foreheads could touch. The calming effect the motion had was sudden, but not immediate. Ruby really did to a certain extent appreciate some people's commentary on her appearance. Though there weren't an exceeding number of people to say "You take after your mother" anymore, "Fantastic eyes" and "Own that look, Reaper" were acceptable substitutes. In her mind, any person foolhardy enough to leer at someone carrying a 12.7 mm rifle with gunpowder compatibility and a pneumatic spike- let alone her casually gliding faster than most people could run- was not worth the effort to try and teach a lesson. Yang however thought differently; wanting to be a fortress between her loved ones and the world. Still, she tried her best to comfort her sister, consoling her and calmly explaining things however many times they took to sink in. She looked gently into the blonde's eyes. Though once a gentle lavender, the iris had transitioned into a permanent red in the past few years. Yang looked back into the pools of stark silver, their colour so intense that she had difficulty remembering they weren't _actually_ filled with liquid mercury.

Yes, she did consider killing the cat-callers. She was serious in those moments, and it wouldn't have been that hard; common folk rarely had aura, and Celica's rounds were full-power nowadays. It was a good thing, though her handcrafted weapon was confiscated for the next week and a half, that the soldiers had intervened immediately. Otherwise, she figured, there would be absolutely no way out of her hole.

"Want me to pinky promise that won't happen again?"

"I don't think that's the best idea. I mean, we already lost half of them."


	3. Hallowed Be

The great October fires spiraled upwards, touching the heavens and spreading their fingers ever higher in ecstasy and throwing out a brilliant, flickering daylight across an audience of hundreds. Their heat was so intense that the dirt around them for fifteen feet was cracked and starved, a ring of sky-blue gemstones set around them as a safety precaution. Among the dancers whose backs were turned were two half-sisters that danced more gracefully and swiftly than the rest. The blaze cast their bony masks into stark lines of orange and black, the shimmering outfits blurring every motion. In and out the pair traveled with an endurance greater than any of the other dancers, the simulated battle traveling so that every person of the hundreds in attendance would see a glimpse. The shorter one's mask was so old that it had become impossible to clean the dust from it. The number of pockmarks and scratches on it made the creature seem all the more intimidating and ancient. The dancer beneath it panted, trying to keep up the impression of being the strongest.

Just last year, that girl had worn a youngling costume; red eyes and fangs with not a single plate or claw anywhere on her body. To say she had thrown herself into the deep end would be an understatement. The mask of Summer had returned after a decade unseen. She even wore a special cape for the occasion; the spikes and bone-plates that her mother used became artfully punctured serpent's scales. She leapt down beside her sister in the single moment of pause the performance permitted to right herself. This was the third night of the October Festival, her birthday. Tonight, the Grimm danced.

Ruby really wanted to sit down and take a nap at this point, but instead kept herself awake by pacing the stalls while carrying her newly-painted child that was Crescent Rose, making sure they would remember their first Hallows together. Nearly everything was orange, black, or red. People sold foods and sugary treats, figurines, books, and everything inbetween. Everyone laughed and joked regardless of who they were or where they were from. It was a beautiful place to be born into. A world where the Grimm were figments of imagination and people lived without worry. Or at least that was what Ruby thought happened during the festival when she was even younger. Now having seen a glimpse of the real world through her first semester at Signal, Ruby began to understand that the nightmares at the gates would never go away with the dawn. It was her mother's, her uncle's, her sister's, her father's, and now her own responsibility to defend against the beasts. With this thought, Little Red Riding Hood smiled. A little boy pulled on the hem of Ruby's skirt, drawing her eyes down before she knelt to be properly face-to-face with him. She had long since gotten used to the small gasp people let out when first looking into the deep pools of silver..

"Wow… you're eyes are so pretty! Are you a huntsman?"

"Not yet. I'm still learning." Ruby cautiously patted the boy's hair, and he beamed at her.

"Is it fun?" he asked, putting his hands together and bouncing on the balls of his feet. Ruby paused in thought before answering, preferring to be honest with a small smile on her face:

"Not really. But it's worth it to see everyone else having fun. Besides, I get to use this." she patted the lunch tray sized metal box. "It's both a collapsible scythe and a twelve-point-seven millimeter chemical-compatible sniper rifle that I built by myself." The fourteen year old leaned in really close to whisper in his ear. "But don't tell anyone. I shouldn't be carrying it around outside school."

"Oh, okay! I can keep a secret! Good luck being a super-great huntsman!" and just like that he bounded off again, his fluffy orange tail flying out behind him as he receded into the crowd and back to his mother. She too smiled over the shoulders of people at Ruby with a somewhat sad shine in her eye before turning downward to listen intently to the boy.


End file.
